Vlad and Robin Drabbles
by lm2k6
Summary: Small hopefully funny drabbles about Young Dracula's most endearing couple, Vlad and Robin. Slash.
1. Chapter 1

You Know What They Say About Guys With Big Feet…

"He should be in his room, Vlad." Mrs Branaugh told him. "Go on up."

Vlad smiled and thanked her, while Mr Branaugh tsked quietly in the background.

When he got to Robin's room, he found it empty, although the small TV was on and Jeremy Kyle was filling the screen.

"Weird. I wonder where he is." Vlad said aloud.

As if to answer him, he heard a cry from another part of the house. "I wish I was an only child!"

Wondering what the twins and Chloe had done this time to his best friend, he turned to go find Robin, only for the door in front of him to swing forcefully open. Startled by the door banging against the wall, Vlad let out a totally masculine 'yelp'. This of course caused Robin, clad only in a pink towel decorated with rubber ducks, to yell in surprise too. He was so surprised, his hands flew comically up in the air – causing the duck covered towel to drop to the floor.

Neither boy knew what to do, both faces absolutely scarlet, as yells of "You're scum! SCUM!" came from the TV. Vlad only now noted the bright green dye in Robin's hair, clashing brightly with his red face. In particular, he watched a droplet of water fall from his lime coloured hair, trail down past Robin's wide chestnut eyes. His eyes followed it as it trickled down his neck – _right across his jugular_, a small voice in the back of his head noted – and down his best friend's well defined chest and past his flat stomach. They followed the lucky droplet ran down Robin's pitch black treasure trail, to his –

"Oh my God!" Vlad mouthed. Finally, the spell was broken as he covered his eyes with his eyes. Both boys spluttered apologies at the same time, before a deeply embarrassed Robin flung on some boxers. And if Vlad's fingers were open a little while Robin got dressed, it must have been hand tremors.

A short train ride later, both boys found themselves outside Stokely's only bowling alley. Robin had bounced back from his initial embarrassment earlier, and even his Troll-green hair ("No seriously, real trolls have that colour hair too, they're just much bigger than the toys") could not put a dent in his confidence.

No sooner had they gotten in the door, Robin had flew for the arcade, thrust his trainers into Vlad's arms saying "Get my shoes, Vlad? They've got house of the Dead Three!"

Vlad didn't know why he felt satisfied when Robin practically knocked a group of fit girls out of the way in his hurry to get to the machine. Okay, so he did know, but he didn't want to admit it yet.

He paid for the lane, and got his own shoes before the attendant asked him for his friend's shoe size. Unable to stop himself in time, he responded "About an eight, or a nine." If she wondered why Vlad was grinning and chuckling, she didn't mention it.


	2. Robin's Dangerous Idea

_**AN: Ok, so Drygionus, whose stories I adore, drew a small sketch from my last drabbley thing on her LJ. I'd love to repay the compliment but quite frankly my drawing is crap. So, I've dedicated this one to her instead . Enjoy!**_

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The Robin Branaugh Picture Show

The castle's entrance hall had an intensely charged atmosphere, and it seemed to the building's master as if the structure itself was waiting in anticipation.

"This is an ancient Welsh ritual, you say?" The Count smiled at Robin in a way that made him feel very much uncomfortable and very much like dinner.

"It is!" the black haired boy nodded enthusiastically, voice quivering slightly. Vlad stood by his side, one hand clamped firmly across his mouth and the other tugging Robin's sleeve insistently. "Used by the Druids on Ynys Môn for centuries!" Count Dracula smiled victoriously. Perhaps the breather boy wasn't all bad, if he had magic! After all, it seemed like he'd have to get used to the runt. The large purple marks on Vladdy's neck that _the girl _had delighted in pointing out over breakfast this morning - while insisting that surely no person this side of Siberia hired or not would give him them, and that only "that Branaugh freak" seemed desperate enough - seemed to indicate that he'd be around a while yet.

Of course, the Count was disappointed that his heir wouldn't be leaving another Dracula to terrorise the world. He consoled himself with the thought that it was up to him to gift another upon the world, and had in fact thrown himself into the task with gusto. He'd overheard the two Branaugh oafs inviting the girl to go 'clubbing'. Naturally, he was intrigued. He was disappointed when he found out that it didn't involve _actually_ hitting breathers with clubs, but enjoyed going to Stokely's various nightlife attractions anyway. After all, it was easy to make his evening look like a drunken fight gone wrong, so the peasants wouldn't suspect a thing.

"Honestly Dad, can't you see what they're trying to do?" Ingrid's mocked from behind him, and he felt his hands clench. Honestly, that girl! She was nothing but a nuisance. _Daaaaaaaaaad, _I need new shoes. _Daaaaaaaaaaaad, _I need a new phone. _Daaaaaaaaaaaad, _I hate you and wish I was dead. She was incredibly selfish, and delighted in ruining his day as much as possible.

"Not now Ingrid, the men are talking. I am about to assume the power to alter time, and you want to bother me with your insignificant little problems? Go buy yourself a bottle of Belgian blood; your mother liked that at her time of the month. " The Count waved his hand dismissively at her, and turned back to Robin. He heard her scoff, and slam the door as she left hurling abuse like a sailor.

"Women, eh. Know what I mean?" he muttered conspiratorially to the breather. His son and heir exchanged glances with the boy, and the Count winced slightly. No, of course he wouldn't.

"Now, my dear boy, you must teach me the secrets of your ancestor's arcane skills!" The Count proclaimed, allowing his power to creep into his voice. The candles in the hall all flickered, and the Branaugh boy looked afraid. 'Good', he though with a smirk. Vladdy was still covering his mouth with his hand, and was even starting to go red. The poor boy was obviously scared of how powerful his father was going to become. He needn't worry though, he and his little companion would be safe from the shadow of fear and tyranny that would soon fall across all of Europe once more. He could reach back in time, and destroy his enemies before they were conceived! Besides, Vlad had sprinkled Garlic along the windows of his little friend's house. He'd found that out the hard way.

"Ok, but you'll 'ave to close your eyes. I need to put on special, er, war paint." His son's friend instructed him.

"Well hurry up then, I haven't got all day!" Count Dracula snapped back impatiently, but complied. He could feel the power he was about to claim as his own ghost over his skin like silk, as Robin dutifully started painting on his cheeks. It seemed an agonising eternity before he was told to stand, and keep his eyes closed. It seemed like the boy's voice was outside the room, so great was the roar of power in his ears.

"Count Dracula, can you feel the blackness hit you?" Robin called.

"Yes!" He shouted back.

"Is the void calling?"

"YES! It's absolutely glorious!" He threw his arms out in front of him, welcoming the ghostly wave that washed over him.

"Good. You're into," the peasant boy's voice trembled slightly, "you're into the time slip! Now, you must complete the ancient dance of the, er, Pobol y Cym! Listen closely, before," it sounded like he was having trouble breathing, "before madness takes its toll!"

Madness? He hadn't mentioned that! Perhaps that's why all the breathers in Stokely were so odd! Still, he was a Dracula, and obviously able to master forces none of them could even dream of!

"Ok Count, it's very simple! It's just a jump to the left!"

He did so, and felt power racing up his legs to pool in his navel. It was working!

"Now, it's a step to the right!"

The Count complied, and felt as if he was passing through a portal of some kind. He could even hear evil cackling, like that of a thousand witches! Surely he was mastering the magic now!

"Put your hands on your hips!"

This was too easy! When he enslaved humanity at it's very inception, he would have them make statues of him in this pose; it showed off his arse _perfectly._ At least he could give them something pleasant to worship.

"Bring your knees in tight!"

This was somewhat uncomfortable, but when his knees touched, it was like completing a circuit; Power, old and deep and infinite filled all his senses.

"But it's the pelvic thrust that really drives you insane!"

He was halfway through his fourth thrust when he realised that he recognised the 'demonic laughter' – it was his own son!

His eyes snapped open just as the breather shouted "Let's do the Time Warp again!"

Robin and his own Vladamir were outside the Castle doors, in the searing midday sun. Vlad was leaning heavily on his friend as tears of laughter streamed down his face, and his shoulders shook violently with laughter. His love interest on the other hand had a shit eating grin plastered across his face and a silver box he recognised as a video camera in his hand.

"I'm going to stay with Robin, dad! See you later!" The two were quickly gone, although howls of laughter still dared sneak in the door and dance round his ears.

Ingrid came in looking pissed off and up for round two, but stopped slightly in shock when she saw her father's face. Then she did something she very rarely did: she laughed very hard. When she had calmed down enough, the Count forced out, "What… has that boy…drawn on my face?" His voice was little more than a hiss.

"Where to start? The Harry Potter scar and glasses? The handle bar moustache and goatee? The rainbow on your left cheek? Or my personal favourite," and the Count could swear Ingrid had never sounded so delighted, "the large hairy phallus, ejacuating straight into your eye!"

Further down the hill, two teenage boys laughter was interrupted by a howl of rage. Vlad looked at the frightened looking Robin, kissed him squarely on the lips, and asked to see the video again. Some things, Robin decided, were worth mortal peril.

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Just as a last ps, and if you're as horrified as me that the BNP actually managed to get seats in the European Parliament, I offer this Tweet from Charlottelydia: "Nick Griffin thinks Asian immigration to Bradford is 'colonialism'. I'm a historian of colonialism, and I think Nick Griffin is a cunt." Couldn't agree more. Love to you all!


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